


One Step Back

by sabinelagrande



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Break Up and Make Up, Community: mcshep_match, F/M, M/M, Non-Chronological, Off-World, Partner Betrayal, Reconciliation, Stranded, Written On An Off Day
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-08-06
Updated: 2010-08-06
Packaged: 2017-10-12 00:12:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,735
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/118696
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sabinelagrande/pseuds/sabinelagrande
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's just over.</p>
            </blockquote>





	One Step Back

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to my betas, taste_is_sweet and cesare.

"Give me your hand!" Teyla shouts above the sound of the wind and the rain. She's only just holding on herself. One of Ronon's hands is clenched around her arm, and he's clinging to the gate with the other.

"Just go!" John shouts back. He's tired, so tired, and he can't close the distance between them, not while he's holding an unconscious Rodney out of the water's grip. The DHD is already mostly covered; the water must be spilling into the gateroom by now. "Come back for us!"

"I will not leave without you!" she responds, even as Ronon is pulling her through the gate, following John's orders to the last.

As the current sucks him away, the water starts to rise.

\--

John wished he didn't remember every instant of that fight, every horrible thing they said to each other. He could remember every single one of Rodney's words with crystal clarity, and they grabbed at him at odd moments, just when he thought he'd forgotten. None of it, though, not one word of it was as bad as remembering all the things he said himself, all the awful, perfect, killing words that he hurled at Rodney, infinitely careful in their cruelty.

As they shouted at each other, John balled his hands into fists, shoving them into his pockets so that he didn't do something even more unforgivable. He tried to keep his voice down, but it kept rising without his permission, getting louder with every word, spinning out of control.

"If I'd known you were so much fucking work-" Rodney spat, and he looked stricken the instant he said it, like he could see the words spilling out of him but was powerless to stop them.

John didn't even do him the courtesy of telling him to go fuck himself; he just slammed out the door.

\--

He's still holding on to Rodney when the water deposits them on what used to be a distant mountaintop and is now an island. The first thing he does is drag Rodney up out of the water's reach. The second is pass out.

\--

John couldn't remember her name, later. Maybe he never knew it; he doesn't remember much of her at all. The bar was dim and crowded when they met, and he was pretty drunk the whole time he was there.

His fight with Rodney was still biting at the back of his brain when she slipped her delicate hand into his and tried to drag him away towards the door. He let her do it.

\--

He's sunburned and thirsty when he comes to, and Rodney is nowhere to be found. Just when his heart starts racing, Rodney reappears, holding some kind of gourd filled with water. He passes it to John, who gulps it down greedily, spilling it onto his shirt. He makes himself slow down, wary of stomach cramps, even though his body is screaming for more.

He's already slaked his thirst when he realizes that Rodney's not complaining at all. He's not even looking at him, just sitting there with a grim expression on his face, looking out over the nascent ocean.

That's when John starts to worry.

\--

It wasn't great, from what he remembered. She had a pretty decent body, but she wanted to do it with all the lights off, which just seemed like a waste to John. It'd been so long since he used a condom that he could barely get the fucking thing open and on, which obviously frustrated her. He didn't last long at all, and he was pretty sure she faked it, but it didn't matter. He wasn't out to impress anybody.

\--

They set to work building a shelter as soon as they've both slept. It doesn't take long; it can't, not with what they've got to work with. A lean-to is the best they can manage, just something to keep the sun off and the moonlight out.

"How long?" John asks when they're inside and preparing to go to sleep. It's the best he's got for pillow talk.

Rodney's rolling his jacket up to use as a pillow. He ignores John's eyes. "If we're lucky, three weeks. At least."

"They could fly the whole city here in that much time," John tries.

Rodney doesn't respond.

\--

"Oh, for fuck's sake, John," Nancy sighed. "What's wrong with you?"

John cradled his cell phone in one hand, looking morosely out over the coffee shop. "Sure wish I knew," he replied.

"No, seriously," she persisted. "You've always been pretty fucked up, but not like this."

He winced, the tenuous new friendship between them chafing against all those years when she'd tried so hard to know him.

"You're going to tell him, aren't you?" she said, filling his silence.

"Yeah," he croaked. His throat felt tight and scratchy, and the coffee didn't help.

\--

It takes them the better part of a month to get into the rhythm of life at the edge of nowhere.

It turns out that Rodney knows how to weave the long, whippy grasses that grow along the shore into mats, which is surprisingly useful. John builds a better lean-to, big enough that both of them can at least sit up in it, and Rodney weaves mats for the walls and the floor. He makes one to cover the pit trap, too. John usually finds enough in there at the end of the day for them to at least get a little protein. He's a terrible cook, but Rodney doesn't complain or offer to help. He just takes whatever John gives him without comment.

They don't talk about why they haven't been rescued. They don't talk much at all.

\--

It was Jeannie who actually put his shit out on the lawn. At least, she was the one who finished the process, hurling his suitcase at him with righteous fury and surprisingly accurate aim.

After she screamed at him and slammed the door, he stood there with his broken guitar in his hand and wished, for the hundred thousandth time, that they'd never come back to Earth.

\--

It's a month and a half before Rodney rolls over in the middle of the night and slides his hand up underneath John's t-shirt, smoothing over his flattening stomach, the ribs that are becoming visible one by one. He fits himself right in next to John, leaning over him to press dry, cautious lips to his, and John opens right up to let him in.

It's not until Rodney reaches for the waistband of his boxers that John catches himself, pushing Rodney away as gently as he can.

"What?" Rodney asks, looking confused and earnest. "What's wrong?"

"We can't," John says. "You wouldn't-" He swallows, his mouth dry. "I know you wouldn't if you thought we were going to be rescued."

Rodney's face goes from concerned to furious in an instant. "Fuck you," he snarls. "You don't fucking know me at all."

John's not done feeling sick when Rodney storms out, dragging his sleeping mat behind him. Rodney doesn't come back in when it starts to rain.

\--

A few weeks later, they finally got the authorization to take the city back home. Right up until takeoff John was still kind of hoping Rodney would stay behind. But no, he was standing over John when it was time to launch, carefully checking how the chair was functioning. He was terse but not impolite, just like he'd been every time they'd worked together since the fight. More than anything, he reminded John of how he'd been in the beginning, when he'd been so busy and terrified that he wasn't himself at all, just this Rodney-shaped robot. It was so much worse the second time around, when John actually knew him.

\--

Rodney's cough progresses into a fever and chills. Pretty soon, he's too sick to help John out at all, too sick to do anything but lay on the floor of the lean-to and shake. John spends every spare minute right next to him, holding his hand and feeling his forehead again and again, fretting uselessly over him. Rodney's too sick to even push him away; he leans into John's touch instead, and John hates himself for enjoying it.

John's there when his fever breaks, watches the fresh sweat popping up all over Rodney's skin. He takes a deep breath and lets it out again, feeling like he's just out of the woods himself.

\--

In the short term, Todd solved a lot of John's personal problems by escaping just as soon as they hit Pegasus, taking a puddlejumper and a ZPM with him. There was no time for confusing glances or misinterpreted signals; there was nothing to do but find the bastard. They'd all always done their best work under pressure, if only because they were so used to it. If John and Rodney were more single-minded and far less friendly than they'd ever been before, there was no one around with enough free time to notice.

So when John finally collapsed into bed afterward, full of the best drugs Keller could provide, he reached automatically for his radio to ask Rodney where he was. The realization, when it hit, was a physical thing; he jerked his hand away from his headset, sucking in a sharp breath.

As he looked around the room, he realized that everything of Rodney was gone, just gone, like he'd never been there at all.

He threw his headset across the room and slept fitfully until morning.

\--

The next time, it's John who closes the distance between them, putting his arm around Rodney and pressing his face into the back of his neck. He smells like soapwort and dried grass, and he's stiff in John's arms.

"This is you giving up," Rodney says.

"This is me giving up," John echoes, because there's no point in lying.

Rodney snorts derisively. "At least there's nobody here you can fuck except me."

John shrinks back from him, stung. "That's pretty fucking low, McKay."

"I don't know if you've noticed, Colonel," Rodney replies, spitting out his title like an insult, "but _we're_ pretty fucking low right now."

John rolls over and sleeps on the other side of the floor, as far away from Rodney as he can get. He's too tired to fight anymore.

\--

He stood between Rodney and Ronon at Teyla's wedding that summer. Teyla looked radiant with the soft breeze blowing through her hair. Torren slept peacefully between her and Kanaan as the assembled sang about hope and trust and fidelity and love.

John didn't even pretend to join them. It took all of his strength to stand there, smile plastered onto his face, and keep looking straight ahead.

\--

"I'm sorry," Rodney says in the morning.

"I probably deserved it," John replies.

Rodney rolls his eyes. "Can't you just let me be sorry anyway, you asshole?" he huffs. "I know you're the princess of the Pegasus galaxy and all, but maybe it's not all about you."

John can't help it; it's really not funny, but he laughs for the first time in what feels like forever. When he looks back at Rodney, Rodney's smiling his crooked smile hesitantly, like the expression is unfamiliar to him.

For the hundred thousandth time, John wishes he could just kiss Rodney until everything keeping them apart just dissolved into nothing.

\--

They were on New New Athos when it finally came up. There was a feast that night, of the "let's use the Lanteans as an excuse to party" variety. It was good as feasts went. Kalen, Teyla's cousin, taught John and Ronon to play some kind of drinking game that involved slapping the table a lot and swearing at each other. John was pretty bad at it, but he was pretty sure that not winning was the point of the whole thing.

The party was winding down when Rodney and Teyla started making noises about leaving. John was feeling drunk and amiable, so he let Ronon lever him up and swing him around towards the door. Before they got two steps away, Kalen put her hand on John's arm. "There is a brilliant moon tonight," she told him. "Will you stay and walk with me?"

He winced, just like he did every time he ended up in a situation like that, which was infrequently enough that he'd never really figured out how to deal with it. He honestly wasn't sure what to do; she was hot and friendly and apparently into him, and his whole team was standing _right there_ , watching him, conspicuously quiet as they waited for his answer.

"I'd better be getting back," he said, giving her a smile. "Sorry."

She inclined her head gracefully at him, going off to rejoin the party. John watched her go, wanting to delay having to turn around and face all of them for as long as he possibly could.

When he finally forced himself to turn around, Ronon raised an eyebrow at him like he couldn't figure out why John didn't just go for it. Teyla smiled ever so slightly, like she was pleased with him but didn't want to show it.

Rodney's face didn't say anything.

He instantly wished he'd gone, just so he wouldn't have had to feel the weight of all their eyes on him.

\--

It's different after that. They make careful overtures to each other, recovery measured in gathered firewood, in fresh fruit, in half-remembered, half-invented holidays. Rodney's smile steadily grows less brittle. Sometimes John can't even feel the weight that's seated permanently on his heart.

And then one night they're lying there together in the dark, and Rodney puts a tentative hand on John's waist, and John brushes his fingers across Rodney's cheek, and then they're kissing, slow and cautious and hungry.

Rodney reaches down to wrap his hand around both of them, and it's dry and a little rough, but John can't help working his hips anyway, struggling for more touch, more sensation, to get as close to Rodney as he can, to just crawl up inside him and never come out again. Rodney's just as desperate. His free hand is clenched tight on John's hip, and John pushes into it, needing the bruises, Rodney's fingers marking him so that he can't ever forget. And Rodney says, "-missed this every day, you have no idea-" and John says, "-love you so fucking much, never again, Rodney-" and they both come in what feels like seconds.

It's maybe the best sex John's ever had.

\--

"Do you need to be punished?" Ronon asked, as they stood on the catwalk after their morning run.

John froze, mid-stretch. "Is this some kind of Satedan thing I don't know about?"

"You've been walking around here like you're just waiting for somebody to kick your ass," Ronon told him, and John could hear the annoyance in his voice. "I figured it'd be quicker if I just went ahead and did it."

John often forgot how well Ronon knew him; Ronon was usually good enough not to mention it. "It's over, okay?" he snapped, suddenly angry. "I fucked up, so it's over. Nobody needs to get their ass kicked. It's just over."

Ronon straightened up, pushing away from the railing. "Start acting like it."

\--

They're sitting on the shoreline in the early morning light. They don't touch, not until John reaches over and takes Rodney's hand in his, turning it over to study it.

"I'm sorry," John says to Rodney's hand. "I shouldn't have-"

" _We_ shouldn't have," Rodney insists. He pauses, looking concerned. "We are talking about what happened a few months ago and not what happened last night, aren't we? Because, just so we're clear- fights and cheating, no. Reconciliation, yes."

He sounds more like himself than he has for months, and something that's been tense inside John relaxes. "I guess if we can get through all this without killing each other, then we're pretty much good to go."

Rodney's answering smile dissolves in the smooth white light of an Asgard beam.

\--

"I'm sure we can put this behind us, Colonel," Rodney said, his face tight and unreadable. "It's best for everyone if we learn to work together."

"Sure," John replied. "I think- sure."

"Good," Rodney said, but he didn't look relieved at all. He squared his shoulders and walked through the gate.

John took a breath and followed after him. It was raining on the other side.


End file.
